I Didn't Ask

I had meant a few weeks ago to share an extraordinary event that happened a few weeks ago, but I got caught up in daily living, which for me means being somewhere other than at home. Noelle, as mentioned in an earlier post (back in July -- my, how time flies), had been having some difficulties with her apartment situation, and how that was resolved was remarkable.

“Ask, and ye shall receive,” we are told. But so many times, I do not ask, yet receive. And many other times, I ask for a little (e.g., strength to bear pain from a medical problem) and receive a lot (e..g., medical problem removed). I wonder sometimes if God does not find joy in giving us more than we expect, anticipate, or deserve.

To recap my concern about Noelle’s apartment situation, she had clearly been being used by a so-called friend (we could not find any behavior that one would expect from a friend) who decided to move in with her and refused to move out. The friend was not on the lease and did not pay any of the rent. She lived there for several months before the apartment manager noticed and told Noelle that the friend had to move out because Noelle was in violation of her lease.

Noelle seemed completely under the spell of this person and was about to get evicted from her handicapped-accessible, low-rent apartment. In the current economic climate, she would neither be able to find something similar nor would she be able to afford something different. Yet, she did not want to talk to Donnie and me about. She said she was independent and would do as she chose. We were further stymied because even the sheriff could not remove her friend without a lengthy process. Once the friend had lived there for a few weeks, she was considered a resident even though the apartment manager had told Noelle repeatedly that her friend had to leave. Truly a mess it was.

Then, the logjam broke. It could have been my telling Noelle that Donnie and I would not help her if she ended up on the street because the situation would have been of her own making. It could also have been the fear of ending up on the street although that had not come up earlier. In reality, I think it was my e-note to Noelle that if she ended up on the street, she might lose her kitty. I think protecting her kitty gave her the strength to stand up to her friend and tell her to leave.

But the friend refused to leave. Noelle contacted me. Donnie and I drove to Salts to be witnesses when Noelle gave her friend a written eviction notice. Explaining the contents, Noelle handed the note to her friend, who refused to look at it, knocking it to the floor, stating that she had no intention of reading the note and that we (Donnie and I) could just put ourselves outside the door; we were not wanted there. Noelle was nonplussed; being in a wheelchair, she could hardly physically eject her friend.

“You don’t have to read the letter,” I stepped up. “There are three witnesses here who are telling you the content, which says that you are required to leave immediately.”

She repeated that she had no intention of leaving, that she could not find another apartment to her liking, and she would be staying as long as she needed to. She raised her voice. Her chutzpah would astonish even the most brazen soul.

Noting to her that she had been given formal notice, we left, planning to call the apartment manager in the morning even though I was flying to the East Coast that day. We were concerned that the manager was getting ready to present an eviction notice to Noelle, and sometimes eviction notices cannot be repealed.

Noelle is an unconserved adult, so we had not been involved in her lease or any other aspect of her life except where requested. And we could not be involved with the apartment manager without her permission. Now we had her permission, and now we saw the whole picture.

As we exited the building, a man, identifying himself as Wentworth, approached us and asked if we were Noelle’s relatives. I have no idea how he put two and two together. We admitted the relationship. Then he told us that he was the assistant manager and lived in that same building. We told Noelle’s side of the story since, under the influence of her friend, Noelle had been incommunicado with anyone in management of the apartment complex. The manager was indeed preparing an eviction notice.

Now that the assistant manager knew the situation, he said the management would help get the friend out, including filing formal eviction papers on her behalf against the squatter. He made a copy of the note Noelle had given her friend, and then he called the police, who showed up right away. While the police could not remove the friend, they scared her.

Later that evening, Wentworth, who had taken our phone numbers, called me and told me that the friend had just left on her own volition. He said that all was back in order with Noelle’s lease, and that the management would keep an eye on Noelle for a while to make sure the friend did not sneak back in and try to browbeat her into letting her stay there. He commented before hanging up how “providential” it was that he had seen us and everything had worked out so easily. He also commented on how surprising God can be and how clearly God watches over Noelle.

That evening at Mass, a visiting priest told us in his homily that we all should ask for God’s help more often and not try to depend upon ourselves. Certainly, I would have prayed about the situation when I got home had I not received the phone call from Wentworth. However, I had not yet had a chance to ask when the actors and actions needed for resolution suddenly appeared on the scene. When you practice the Presence of God in the way of Br. Lawrence, sometimes God, always being with you, answers even before you ask!

(also posted on Modern Mysticism)

God's Trust and My Children/Grandchildren

Recently in our prayer group, one of our members talked about some difficult times she and her family were facing, and she called it a "test" from God. We moved from there to similar kinds of issues in other members' families and then on to a discussion about my children, especially the three (two of my own and one who came and lived with us) who must deal with one or more birth defects (Noelle, Doah, Shura), along with my grandchildren who have also been affected by these family "gifts" (Nathaniel having been born with hydronephrosis and Nikolina with that, too, as well as OEIS Complex). It surprised me to learn that these people of God looked at my children and my family situation so differently from the way I look at it.

First, my children are not burdens. They are blessings.

Second, life with these children is not difficult although it is challenging. It is a constant opportunity to learn and to grow, including learning how to lean on God and others God sends, which, I believe, is something that God wants us to do.

Most important, in no way do I think that God is testing me or my family. Rather, I feel favored that God would trust me (of all people) with something so special. Likewise, I don't believe that my friends are experiencing a test from God. I believe that they are experiencing God's trusting them not only to cope with the difficult situations that they face but also to learn from them and to grow in faith (and yes, trust).

May God continue to bless all of us in this extraordinary way, and may we learn and grow and live up to His trust in us!

Spiritual Sunday #38: Doah Went to Court, or God Knew Best

On Sundays, I usually participate in the Spiritual Sunday meme on my main blog, 100th Lamb. The post I chose this weekend, however, is about my youngest son, Doah, and so I thought it would be of interest to readers of Clan of Mahlou. For more Spiritual Sunday posts, I recommend that you wander over to the website of Charlotte and Ginger, who host the Spiritual Sunday meme.

Because I do not blog on Sundays -- keeping it as the sabbath, a practice started by Fr. Christian Mathis (Blessed Is the Kingdom) -- I use older posts (forgotten perhaps but hopefully still interesting) from one or another of my blogs that seem appropriate for this meme. It seems to work to bring out the older posts that many have not read before or ones from other blogs I maintain that readers of 100th Lamb may not know about.

This week I decided to change pace a little and share a post related to one of my children, now grown, and a difficult period (oh, there were so many): Doah Went to Court, Or God Knew Best.

And here is the post-reprinted:

With another interesting comment coming in early this morning on the topic of God (not) answering prayer, I am thinking again about the post about my catechism classes and the teenagers' frustration when God does not give them exactly what they want -- and, in reaction, they declare that God is dead or does not exist. (Of course, much of that is for the dramatic effect on us teachers, and the rest of it is to keep up the "cool" image of the cheerleaders and ball players in the class.) What I tell them is to look beyond their own agenda and see what God might know that is better than what they want.

A highly troubling personal example bubbles to mind when I think about prayer and God knowing best. When I first returned from Jordan three years ago, I learned that my mentally challenged son Doah had gotten into some serious trouble at the local mall. At the time, he was living in a group home for disabled adults and working at a sheltered workshop, as he does now. He was in his mid-twenties, but because he never surpassed 4'7", he never seemed to be older than 8-10 years old, which is the outside limits on his mental development as well. A very affectionate person, he had seen a young girl he knew at the mall. She was with her parents. He went over to her and hugged her. At that point, all manner of chaos broke loose. Although Doah's size was the same as the girl's, the girl was only 13. The parents freaked; Doah does look "different." Mall security seized Doah, and off he went to jail. The group home director got him out of jail, but the district attorney wanted to prosecute even after the parents, who had finally figured out what was happening, dropped the charges. The DA had a goal: Get retarded people off the streets of Salts, the city where Doah lived.

Lizzie, my oldest daughter, was visiting at the time that Doah's first appearance in court took place. We had only about a day's notice. I had just returned from a long time out of the country, and the group home was not used to my being around to inform about such things and had somehow also missed informing Shane, who looks out for Doah when Donnie and I are not around. Donnie was still in Jordan. So, Lizzie and I went to court with Doah. However, because Doah is not conserved and is of age, neither of us was allowed to appear with him. We had to sit in the back of the courtroom.

When the judge called Doah, he read him the charges: sexual molestation. (For a hug!??!) The judge then asked Doah if he understood the charges. Of course, he did not. He appeared quite confused, and the judge repeated, "Please answer me. Do you understand the charges?"

Doah responded, "You give me credit card? I buy something?" Now the judge was confused! He looked around the courtroom, somewhat desperately, and saw Doah's social work leaning over the barrier.

"Are you with this young man?" he asked.

The social worker identified his name and position and was allowed to approach the bench. He told them that there was family in the area and that the family wanted a private attorney. (The judge had been about to assign a court-appointed attorney, and, I fear, that would have been a railroad job. The DA would have had his highly visible case that could have turned into sanctioned discrimination against an entire class of people.)

We have a friend who is considered one of the best defense attorneys in Salts. I had actually been instrumental at one point in putting him on the fast track to practicing law in California so he helps us out from time to time. He took Doah's case gratis. He thought it would be open-and-shut, but it turned out that the DA would not budge. He had a chance to make a name for himself and get his agenda implemented, and he planned to do it. Our lawyer was temporarily stymied, and Doah was definitely going to be put on trial. There were only two possible outcomes of such a trial: (1) jail for a year, or (2) probation and identification for life as a sex offender.

So, if Doah were your son, which outcome would you pray for? Being in jail would have taught my little imitator how to do many bad things that would have followed him the rest of his life to his detriment. Probation was fine, but being labeled as a sex offender would also have followed him all his life to his detriment. So, I asked God for the only thing I thought could possibly work: for God to make the decision on what would happen to Doah.

The morning after that prayer, our lawyer called me excitedly. He said he had turned the case over and over in his mind and saw no way to win; he had spent a couple of days trying to convince the DA that what he was doing was wrong-headed and not appropriate in this case and still saw no way to win, given the DA's stubbornness. Then, when he got out of bed that morning, a thought from nowhere had tumbled into his head: the DA has a supervisor. So, he went to the DA's supervisor, explained the whole case, told him that he had known Doah since Doah was 9 years old, and that what had happened was only a result of Doah's generally friendly nature. The supervisor agreed that there was more than met the eye, requested a psychological examination, and said that a third option would be added: If the psychological examination confirmed the lawyer's analysis, then Doah would be put on probation for a year and if there were no further incidents all court records would be expunged as if nothing had ever occurred.

And, so, that is exactly what happened. The psychologist said that Doah had the mental acuity only to determine whether a behavior was good or bad but not the ability to understand that a good behavior becomes a bad behavior depending upon circumstance. That would be too fine a distinction for him to make. In other words, hugging is good at home, school, church, parties where you know everyone, but it is bad at the mall. Doah could not possibly draw that kind of conclusion, given his mental capacity. So, option three was taken by the court, and a year later the DA himself requested that the case be withdrawn and the records removed.

How blessed we were that God had a third answer. How happy I am that I did not ask for one of the only two options that I knew about. (I suspect, though, that if I had asked for one of those options, God would still have introduced the third, better, one.)

So, yes, I say to my catechism students, God does say "no," and we should be grateful that God knows best!

The Value of Flattery

The below text is one I just posted on Mahlou Musings, an excerpt from a book I wrote several years ago. I thought, since Noelle and Doah, occupy front and center in the text, it might also be worth sharing on The Clan of Mahlou.

Lewis Lapham (Lapham's Rules of Influence) advises the profuse use of flattery. He writes that "flattery is comparable to suntan lotion or ski wax. It cannot be too often or too recklessly applied."

My two handicapped children, Noelle and Doah, know this. As children and adults, unlike what one might expect, they have been quite popular, among others reasons, because they routinely use flattery.

For example, Doah, when needing help, will often address a nearby woman, "Excuse me, pretty lady. You help me, please?" What woman does not like to be called pretty?

And who would not feel good about helping someone clearly disabled who shows appreciation through more flattery by saying, for example, "Thank you. You're a nice person. I like you."

Likewise, Noelle once got me out of a traffic ticket when I accidentally drove through a stop sign. A four-year-old at the time, she was clearly thrilled at the sight of the police officer who pulled me over. While I searched for the car registration, she gushed flattery at him, telling him how wonderful she thought policemen were, how kind, and how helpful. He told me to forget the registration, that he would give me only a warning because he did not want my daughter not to like policemen.

Although she became more sophisticated about how she words things, Noelle has continued to use flattery and to be treated with warmth by people with whom she interacts. For example, she had a series of negative experiences at what I shall call Hospital A in Washington and ultimately we transferred her to Georgetown University Hospital, where she had a series of positive experiences. Near the beginning of her treatment there, she had to be hospitalized. Unfortunately, no beds were immediately available, so the staff spread out a blanket on the floor of her room. The clinic director, embarrassed by this situation, stayed with Noelle two hours until a bed was found. She apologized to Noelle several times.

Noelle's response was, "Hey, I'd rather be on the floor here than in the softest bed at Hospital A." Obviously, that piece of flattery made Noelle a favorite patient for the entire time she was at Georgetown University Hospital.

We all like to hear other people say good things about us. They, too, like to hear good things said about them. Flattery often works where other means of motivation fail.

My sister, Danielle, points out that when flattery is sincere, there are many ways to get the good intentions to multiply. She cites the example of her husband, Bill, who has often elicited support and astounding service by first complimenting the employee sincerely with supporting details and then going on to report the employee's exceptional service and performance to the employee's supervisor, attributing the employee's attitude and performance to the supervisor's skill in management.

"By the end of the conversation," she wrote to me, "the supervisor and supervisee are dancing around Bill to see that everything goes smoothly."

So, slather the flattery wherever it is deserved!



----

Excerpted and adapted from a collection of vignettes I published, copyright 2003.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I have no intention of spending Thanksgiving Day at a computer. In fact, I have all kinds of other plans, but I did want to wish all readers a happy -- and tasty -- day. As for me, I have a guest (friend) from Washington, DC, who has been here all week with me. Doah and I intend to attend the Thanksgiving Mass in the morning, then our whole family will go over to the community dinner that is sponsored by our parish. I think it is a bit unique. Every year the entire community (our town has only a little over 1000 people, including children) is invited to a free Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant-like building that our parish owns. Those who have cooking talent provide the food. Others serve or clean up. Since I have absolutely no cooking talent, my family and I serve on the clean-up crew. Every year hundreds eat for free -- rich and poor alike (and together). It is a great way to spend Thanksgiving!

However you spend your Thanksgiving, I hope it will be a day to remember and a day for which you find yourself grateful!

Doah's Birthday Party

Saturday we had birthday celebration #32 for Doah. As usual, we all crowded into our local Pizza Factory, and they were ready for us with lots of pizza, drinks, and an open tab. It was a bit sad, though, because our priest, who has not been with us for several months now (see the sad, frustrating story here -- almost over, though, because the diocese has now established his innocence), was missing for the first time in four years. The mood, nonetheless, was festive and raucous. Everyone in the place knew that Doah was having a party, and he himself acted as master of ceremonies.

Did I think to take pictures? Nope! I had to have been quite dense about it all because I had my iPhone with me and was showing pictures from the past on it to everyone there. Oh, well, I will leave it to everyone's imagination to picture how it all went down.

Donnie ordered a cake from a local bakery. I think he must have been hungry because he showed up with a gigantic box. I asked him how many it would serve, and he said 60. Needless to say, after feeding all the party-goers, all the pizza makers, and all the other customers who wanted a piece of cake, we had quite a bit of leftover. Everyone took some cake home, and we still had leftovers. So, I will take a pan of cake over to the parish office later today. Someone has to help us devour all this icing-covered chocolate!

As we were sitting in the car after all the festivities had ended, getting ready to pull out of the parking lot, Noelle commented, "Do you think it would be a good idea to take the leftover cake off the hood of the car before we leave?" Ah, yeah! Really good idea!

Shades of Arlington cookies! Many years ago, when Professor Lizzie was a high school student, I made some cookies for a band booster fundraiser for Washington-Lee High School in Arlington, Virginia. (I believe they were edible although I have grave doubts as to whether they were tasty, considering the reputation of the cook.) I wrapped them in saran wrap, and we all dashed to the car for the short ride to the high school. That morning everyone waved at us along the way -- it was a real friendly morning. When we got to the high school parking lot, though, we found out that it was not actually a friendly morning, just a matter of kind folks trying to get our attention as we dashed from intersection to intersection, hoping that we would realize that they were pointing out the plate of saran-wrapped cookies, bouncing along with us on the roof of the car.

11111

Now, that may be a strange title for a post, but it is actually meaningful. Quite meaningful, really. Today is the first day of the 11th month of the 11th year (11/1/11). More important, though, today is Donnie's birthday. Double special.

Now, how we are celebrating is a story that might be unexpected. We are watching the Chronicles of Narnia on television, eating raspberries, and regaining energy after two unplanned days of Doah at home!

How that came about is a long story. Here is the synopsis, as I related on FaceBook:

Sunday evening FB:

It's going to be a long night. Doah is staying over. AFTER we got home, he announced that tomorrow, which he will be taking off from work, is his last day at that job, and he wants to say good-bye. We have one car; that one is taking me to work in the morning in the opposite direction of Doah's work. Then, a half hour later, he announced that his cat allergy had kicked into high gear. We have one air filter -- I just moved it into the guest room for him, with fingers crossed it will do the trick. Then he announced that he was too tired to sleep (gotta think about that one..) and came into the living room, announcing after a few minutes that he was too bored not to sleep and meandered back to the bedroom. (I am going to go pull him out of there in a minute and take him for a LONG walk!) I kinda remember now what it was like having an adult Doah at home full time. As I said, it will be a LONG night. (Did we have more energy or more patience 10 years ago? Or, maybe more entertaining toys since clearly we are not considered entertaining!) Well, where it all ends is . . . Halloween -- the purpose of bringing him home for a day. (That is TOO LONG a story to even start here, so just take it on faith that this was the only way to make Halloween happen this year.) Now, I am feeling too tired to sleep... (just kidding -- off for that walk...)

We did take that walk! And it helped Doah to sleep as late as 5:00 a.am. The story continues below.

Monday evening FB:

We survived Doah's visit -- well, mostly. Doah was up at 5 a.m., asking if it was time to get up for the day. No, Doah, not really. Then, again at 6:00, which got a positive answer since I had to get up for work. Then, Donnie called me twice at work -- Doah'd out the first time; needed Doah, who wanted to take an unaccompanied stroll about town, reined in the second. I ended up leaving work an hour early to rescue my husband from my son. Took Doah to the USPO and store for milk. Hey, it's diverting. Coming home, the sheriff had stopped his car in the left lane on Fifth Street and rolled down his window, waiting for us. Wondering why, I drove up to him and rolled down my window. He leaned over, looked at Doah, and said, "Hi, pal. How you doing?" Yep, everyone knows Doah! After that, Doah and I went to All Saints' Mass at the mission. More diversion. Then it was Halloween time. I decided to take Doah only to homes of people we know. The first person was out. The second one was out. The third one was out. Not scoring very well initially. Then, we dropped by the convent, where, because the convent is behind the parish office, few people realize that they can walk back in there for trick-or-treat. So, Doah was the first (and perhaps the only). We went into the living room, where the nuns had quite a store of candy and homemade treats. We tasted everything and talked for about ten minutes. Before leaving, we took pictures of everyone with Sr. D's camera. (Donnie tells me that where he grew up in Niagara Falls, this was typical behavior. Not so for where I grew up in northern New England.) Then Sr. M decided to come trick-or-treating with us. She knew more people, so we went to a bunch of fun houses. Along the way, our friend Silvia from Hollister drove by to drop her husband off at a meeting, then decided to join us for trick-or-treating. So, now we had gathered three adults to supervise one Doah. Yeah, that would be just about the right ratio! ;) Meanwhile, Donnie held down the fort at home -- in vain; no one wanted to trek our hill for a little Halloween candy. So day finally over, Donnie drove Doah and our leftover candy back to Hollister, and I curled with my cat Murjan at my feet. (Make that, puppy dog Murjan -- he insists on having his belly rubbed and likes to lick my face -- not much like a cat at all.) No sooner had we settled in than the doorbell rang -- a bunch of trick-or-treaters had traipsed our hill, but now I had no candy! All in all, though, it was a diverting day, from which we are definitely going to need tomorrow to recover.

Happy (belated) Halloween!